


Empty

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst and Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:04:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean huffs but Castiel feels the mattress sink and shift as Dean nudges his legs apart. Castiel lowers his head, face pressed to the bed, ass in the air. And he doesn’t really feel like a human sometimes. He’s a vessel. A vase. He’s something empty that’s defined by what it holds, by how much it can hold. His usefulness is in his hollowness. And he’ll fill up with drugs, and sex, and violence. Because there’s plenty of that to go around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

He comes when it’s way past the middle of the night, teetering on the cusp of morning but it’s still dark, still quiet out there. Most of the camp is sleeping, or should be, although there will be some few people still up and clinging to each other, moving together in the dead of night looking for some kind of meaning, some kind of reason. Castiel doesn’t have any of those kind of people with him tonight. He’s alone, naked in his bed and too high to sleep and itching idly at his skin when it feels like there’s something living underneath that doesn’t belong, that needs out. 

He’s up too late, in the quiet cabin, when he hears the steps creak just slightly outside. Castiel knows the sound well, the particular sound, the weight and hesitation of the body on those steps. It’s Dean. Castiel rolls over as the front door opens, the overhead light flicking on too bright and he squints against it, giving Dean a smile over his shoulder as he slouches back in the bed in a position that’s supposed to be inviting. His smile is probably too crooked, it feels too tight on his face, and he can see that Dean can see it for the forced smile that the other man gives him. 

Green eyes always linger on the faded pink scar on Castiel’s chest where he carved an angel banishment so so many years again. It kind of feels like the reason Dean keeps coming. That guilt. That shame. That friendship that runs too deep like an underground river and both of them know that it’s poisoned but they still drink the water together. Dean comes over to him, lingering at the edge of the bed. 

“Cas are you high?”

Castiel can’t help the bitter laugh that bubbles up out of his mouth as he grabs Dean by the shirt and pulls him down, pushes Dean up towards the front of the bed and kneels naked in between his legs. 

“Yeah, course I am.”

Dean scowls at him, gives him that disappointed look like so much judgement and reproach that he used to get from other angels too many times but now Castiel guesses it’s just up to Dean to judge him, there’s no one else around. Whether Dean hates what Castiel has become or not, he still lets Cas unbutton his shirt and push it open, pull down the zipper of his jeans, crawl onto his lap. It’s not difficult to get Dean hard if you’ve got a warm body. 

“Do you even know what you’re on?”

Castiel at least gives him the effort of scrunching up his brow and pursing his lips like he’s thinking. 

“I mixed them all together in the same bottle, saves space.”

“You still know what they are, I know you got it memorized Cas.”

“I do.”

“Goddamit.”

Castiel laughs. His father’s name has that effect on him anymore. 

Yeah, he knows everything that he’s put in his body, he knows what they’re supposed to do and what they do together and even when he’s high he looks at the colors and shapes and the little letters inscribed on the surfaces. Dean doesn’t really care. He can’t afford to. Castiel is fine with that. 

Reaching to the nightstand where he has a small plastic bottle of olive oil because he hadn’t managed to snag anything better on the last raid, Castiel slicks up Dean’s cock and sinks right down onto it. It’s thick enough to sting and it takes Castiel a few breaths when he’s all the way down on Dean’s lap before he wants to move again. Dean is still wearing his jeans, the open zipper digging in to Castiel’s thigh and the material is soft and well word against his ass. 

Dean grunts, brings his hands up to Castiel’s ribs and holds him still. Castiel cries out when Dean thrusts up. He’s ready for a rough night, wants to feel it, wants the pain that can pierce through the haze of drugs that leave him skimming the surface of reality, wants the pleasure that keeps him begging for more. Rocking against Dean’s body, trembling, cock hard and smearing pre come against Dean’s stomach, Castiel throws his head back and lets the noise flow from his mouth.

Then Dean’s flipping him over, pushing him onto his side. Castiel cranes his neck to look back but Dean has his face buried against the curve of Castiel’s shoulder. Rough fingers press against him, into him, only two twisting up deep inside and curling. Castiel shudders and pulls a leg up towards his chest to open himself up better. 

“I don’t need that. Come on.”

“Just let me Cas. Let me.”

He doesn’t need it. Doesn’t need to be coddled. Doesn’t need to be taken care of. Even though he’s human, that doesn’t make him weak. He thought he was at first, because it was so different, because it took him what felt like ages to adjust to it. And Dean, Dean, he expected so little of Castiel as a human because next to what he could do as an angel, it was so little. But slowly Castiel saw that next to other humans, it was still good. He was not weak. 

Castiel enjoys the press of fingers inside him, enjoys the slower easier stretch. But he doesn’t want it from Dean.Because there’s nothing slow or easy or good between them, and tomorrow Castiel will be just another soldier, again, Dean’s soldier. 

So he pulls away and crawls onto his knees. 

“Come on Dean.”

Dean huffs but Castiel feels the mattress sink and shift as Dean nudges his legs apart. Castiel lowers his head, face pressed to the bed, ass in the air. And he doesn’t really feel like a human sometimes. He’s a vessel. A vase. He’s something empty that’s defined by what it holds, by how much it can hold. His usefulness is in his hollowness. And he’ll fill up with drugs, and sex, and violence. Because there’s plenty of that to go around. 

He’s pulled out of his wandering thoughts when Dean thrusts in deep and hard, leaning over his sloped back and grabbing his short hair. Forcefully, his head is wrenched up and Dean fucks into him ruthlessly. 

“S’that what you want then, want me to make it hurt, can you even feel it?”

Castiel doesn’t answer with words, just pushes against Dean, arches his back as his head is yanked up and he can barely hold himself up on his hands he’s hanging by Dean’s fist. It hurts and it’s perfect. The haze in his mind and the tingling poison in his veins ebbs with the sweet sharp pleasure, feeling so full, stretched wide and split open. The bed creaks and slides on the floor. The sound of Dean slamming in to him is a noisy, human thing, the sound of Dean’s grunts and Castiel gasping, pleading, moaning, all bounce around under the harsh light between clapboard wood walls. 

Dean doesn’t even touch his cock, keeps a hand buried in Castiel’s hair and a hand pressing against his ribs, holding him there, keeping him from falling forward with the force of it. Castiel holds himself up on shaking arms and cants his hips back at a sharper angle, slotting his body against Dean’s till he can feel the sudden intense pleasure burst from that sweet spot and the tight tight need in his belly coils even more until it’s too much and he screams when it lashes through him. 

Sticky, sweaty, too hot for his own skin, too hot in his mind, a swelling blistering discomfort, Castiel stretches onto his back after Dean pulled out. Castiel reached to the nightstand for a joint that was sitting ready next to an ash tray and a lighter. He didn’t light it, not yet, held it in between his fingers as he folded an arm under his head and watched Dean, who already had his shirt back on and was reaching for his boots. 

“You could stay.”

“You could put that joint back.”

Castiel reached a hand across the space between them, fingers curled in on themselves, and brushed his knuckles against Dean’s back. 

“We’ll be have to be up in an hour anyway, I’ll suck you off.”

“That all you think I want from you?”

Dean wasn’t putting his boots on any more but he was still hunched over himself. 

“That’s all I have to give you.”

Dean looked over his shoulder, and Castiel was suddenly aware what a mess he was, strung out, covered in sweat and come, empty, empty. He couldn’t read Dean’s eyes like he used to be able to, all the shades of green, couldn’t see the soul sitting behind them, pulsing with the energy of the righteous man that used to be in there. Castiel wasn’t even sure if it was still in there anymore. 

“Smoke your joint and get some fucking sleep, we have to go scouting tomorrow, so ease up on the pills before breakfast.”

There’s scorn in his voice. It’s all Castiel hears. A terrible, grating, thing that stings in the raw wounds it makes. Castiel’s hand flops back down onto the bed. The light goes off, the steps creak in that way that they do when Dean walks away. Castiel covers his eyes, he covers his face, even though there is no one else there in the darkness with him. He doesn’t want to see what he’s become. The emptiness of the world around him.


End file.
